Like Whoa
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: A different kind of spin on Sam's first time back on the job. Wincest, of course.
1. Chapter 1

-Note- Haha this is gonna sound so dorky I'm sure, but I was listening through iTunes samples of Aly and Aj's new cd, and this song on there is called 'Like Whoa' and I felt that the lyrics matched in an odd sort of way…so yeah. That song might be more of Sam's point of view, and 'Ten Days' by Missy Higgins is more sort of Dean's if ya want a bit of a soundtrack. J As usual, much love and thanks to my wonderful and (constantly) overworked beta, Miss Cinnamon. She IS my miracle worker! Leave reviews ya'll, they keep the muse happy and hopefully Miss Cinnamon motivated as well!-Note-

_'Cos baby time has changed nothing at all - you're still the only one that feels like home.  
And I've tried cutting the ropes, I let you go. _

_But you're still the only one that feels like home, yeah.  
You're still the only one that feels like home.  
You're still the only one I've gotta love._

xXx

Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek for the hundredth time that day, the reassuring taste of copper filling his overloaded and raw senses. They were supposed to be doing research, working, looking for Dad. That was why Dean had even gone to find Sam, why he'd bothered risking the safety of his denial and his shallow existence. To find Dad and save the only part of his family left- not break his heart all over again.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, or the best chance anyway. Who better to help him find Dad then the one person who knew him as well as Dean did? It sucked, but so did the fact that he had to even argue with himself over it. Sam was his brother and sure at one time they'd been more, a _lot_ more, but Dean should be able to go to him-for something like this at least.

Only now Dean couldn't seem to control his hormones with Sam back. Every other thought always seeming to take a backseat to memories of Sam and what they'd been. Fevered kisses and desperate promises that Dean had thought Sam needed as much as he did.

The lightest brush of shoulders or fingertips sending him spiraling back in time when things had been right between them. Before Sam decided it wasn't enough.

Sam bumped his shoulder. "Dean," he called impatiently, breaking Dean free of yet another tangent. He didn't seem to be having any of the problems Dean was having, but then again he was the one that had left. Why would he want to do anything other then find Dad and get back to _Jess_?

Hadn't taken much for Sam to move on, Dean noted angrily. Remembering how easily Sam had brushed him off for the blonde, something that would have been laughable if Sam's arm hadn't wrapped around her waist so possessively. The same way it had around Dean's a few years back. Same fierce loyalty and intensity throughout his features as he let Dean know that anything he had to say, could be said in front of Jess. She was as much a part of Sam as Dean was, maybe more now. And the only reason Sam had backed down from that was because Dean had mentioned Dad.

Anything else and Sam would have blown him off all together. Why not? Dean had been replaced after all.

He glared at Sam and refocused his attention on the screen in front of him. He knew what he was supposed to be doing, he didn't need anymore _reminders_ from Sam. What he needed was some space. To be able to breathe without Sam filling his senses like he had every right to be there.

Ignoring his brother's questioning gaze, Dean quickly typed in 'female murder hitchhiking', hoping they'd get a hit the first time around so he wouldn't have to sit so close to Sam anymore. He could get up and let Sam do what he did best outside of breaking hearts, and pull the geek boy routine while Dean chatted with the locals. Or maybe relearn how to breathe before he passed out all together. Ya know, whatever.

No results flashed across the screen and he felt Sam inch closer, pent up aggression racing through his veins. Was Sam playing some kind of game with him? Was that what this was about? Do whatever he had to, to drive Dean insane and then walk out all over again? Never mind Dean had gone to Sam in the first place.

This time Dean typed in 'female murder Centennial Highway', concentrating extra hard on the keyboard. He narrowed his sight down to the black and white keys, seeing only letters and words that formed with a few quick tap of his fingertips. Not the drag of teeth across cherry swollen lips that came with the same ease of his touch a lifetime ago.

Again 'no results' flashed across the screen, and panic flared up in him. The memories threatening to overwhelm him with no escape this time. No quick exits open to him with Sam's chair blocking him in, another row of computers to his side.

Sam reached for the mouse, his chest pressing against Dean's back with thoughtlessness. "Let me try."

"I got it," Dean snapped, slapping Sam's hand away. The sudden touch like a knife to the heart.

He'd spent four years without a word, without one damn thing from Sam, and it had been no different since his brother had been back. Now Sam felt comfortable enough with their break up to return to casual touches after only hours when Dean wasn't sure he'd ever be ready for that.

Sam leaned forward and pushed Dean's chair away, rolling his own chair up in Dean's place. Obviously not phased by Dean's irritated reaction. Growling, he rolled his chair up behind Sam.

"You're such a control freak," he informed his brother irritably.

It was Sam's fault he couldn't focus completely in the first place. If he didn't have to keep reliving their past every waking second, with a true to life reminder of it too, he might actually be able to make it through this job. Dean had managed just fine without Sam the past four years-memories and all.

He grinned and moved closer to Sam, an idea forming with the same blindness as going to Sam had. His brother may have been okay with the brief contact that had nearly killed Dean a moment ago, but how would he react to a more deliberate touch? It drove Sam nuts not having any control of what was happening, but there were some things even Sam couldn't control. Like Dean.

"So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, brushing his nose lightly through Sam's hair, only half listening.

He let himself finally breathe his brother in, ignoring every warning bell going off in his head at the moment. Reliving memories was one thing-acting on them was something else entirely. Mostly dangerous.

Sam seemed to relax in his seat, moving back to meet Dean. "Maybe it's not murder," he suggested softly, his voice hesitant as he typed in 'female suicide Centennial Highway'. But

Dean was pretty sure it had more to do with their proximity and a lot less to do with his suggestion.

Dean paused a second, expecting another 'no results found' again. When an article came up, he shook his head in disbelief. Sam couldn't have suggested that before Dean had completely lost his mind and started this?

Annoyed with Sam even more, Dean slipped his hands to Sam's waist. Mouth moving to the back of Sam's neck. His tongue flicked out, tasting salty sweet skin. He nearly moaned with the first taste of Sam in years, but quickly swallowed it. This was about breaking Sam, and he'd be damned if he gave in so easily.

"This was 1981," Sam went on as if Dean were still seated a respectable distance away. "Constance Welch…"

Dean hummed in response, wondering if Sam was paying nearly as much attention to the article as he seemed. If he was, then Dean had some serious work to do.

There was already a hickey on the back of Sam's neck that Dean was sure he'd flip over later when he realized it, but right now Sam was none the wiser and he was going to make sure he marked Sam as much as possible before one, or both of them, came to their senses.

"Twenty four years, jumps off Sylvania Bridge," Sam's breath hitched as Dean's teeth scraped roughly against his skin, sinking in as they met his jaw. "drowns in the river," he finished softly.

Releasing Sam's neck in favor of the juncture connecting it and his shoulder, Dean made a soft sound of polite indifference. "Does it say why she did it?" Dean asked absentmindedly, his hands sliding to the waist of Sam's jeans, clearly forgetting where they were.

"Yeah-Dean?" Sam broke off shakily.

He wasn't sure what did it, the uncertainty in his brother's voice or his breathlessness, but the tables were suddenly turning and just like that, with an involuntarily groaned 'Sammy', Dean lost at his own game.

"Dean," he whispered again, his hands covering Dean's as they began to unzip his jeans. "What are you doing? I-"

"I know," Dean interrupted, before Sam could bring up Jess himself.

Truthfully he didn't know what he was doing anymore. Sam had someone waiting for him at home. He was only Dean's for the weekend and Sam had made that perfectly clear from the moment Dean had regrettably set foot in his apartment. Still, it was nearly impossible to keep his hands to himself and he was amazed he'd made it this long without swallowing every one of Sam's heart wrenching protests.

"I know you have her, but-" he broke off, his voice catching. He sounded so jealous and broken, and that wasn't how he wanted Sam to see him."Its hard to let go when you're here."

He slipped his hands further underneath Sam's shirt, fingers sliding over heated skin.

"God, you're _here,_" he murmured, fingers tightening possessively. He still couldn't believe that Sam was here with him, no matter what truth Sam offered.

Sam gasped his agreement and slid an arm around the back of Dean's neck, dragging him closer. Grinning, Dean dropped his mouth back to the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder to continue the blood bruise he'd been working on before he'd been so needlessly interrupted.

He let his hands wander, encouraged when Sam whimpered almost inaudibly against his neck. Sam may have Jess, but Dean could still work Sam over like no one else. His stomach heaved at the comparison. That wasn't what this was about, Jess didn't have anything to do with this, or them. Dean just wanted Sam, wanted _them _back.

"Dean," Sam gasped softly, fingers tightening around Dean's neck. "Wait."

He bit sharply at Sam's throat and palmed Sam's half hard cock, feeling his hips jerk almost violently. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he lied quickly, afraid that anything more would only scare his brother away.

That wasn't what Dean wanted to say, wasn't anything near what he meant, but Sam had Jess. He had to keep reminding himself of that and take what Sam was willing to give while he stuck around, otherwise Dean would only be left with more regrets. At least this way he was left with the faint taste of Sam.

Suddenly Sam's hands were pushing his away and he was jumping to his feet, putting as much distance as he could between them in the small space the computer area had to offer. Panting, Sam glared down at him. His hair rumpled and his lips chewed pink. If he didn't look so angry Dean might have given up all pretenses and fucked Sam over the desk-to hell with

Jess and everyone else.

"Sammy?" he asked hoarsely, hoping like hell Sam's anger was of the geek boy nature and what he really wanted was to do this someplace else-like their motel room. Except that would be too easy, would mean no complications, and Dean had learned long ago that with them, there was no such thing as easy.

"What did you miss more, Dean?" Sam growled. "Me-or the fucking?"


	2. Chapter 2

-Note- Always much love and thanks to my wonderful and overworked beta, Miss Cinnamon. Despite her busy schedule she keeps me motivated and laughing like no else. Where would I be without you? -Note-

Dean sat there stunned and watched Sam leave the library without a second glance. What did he miss more-Sam or the fucking? Had his younger brother really just asked him that? Really questioned his motives, actually thought there was the smallest possibility that this was all about sex?

_Who the fuck did he think he was_, Dean thought angrily. He leapt to his feet, knocking the chair back into the row of computers behind him, and chased after Sam. Ignoring the dirty look the librarian shot him as he ran past. He had bigger problems than an uptight librarian.

Sam was halfway down the front steps when Dean caught up to him, his hand circling Sam's wrist. "Just wait a damn minute," he ordered, turning and slamming Sam roughly against the side of the building. A small group of girls stopping in their tracks.

Dean glared over his shoulder, for once not bothering to rely on his charm. This was between him and his brother, and right now he just didn't have the patience to handle things any other way. Let alone the self control.

They hurried down the sidewalk, whispering and throwing glances back their way until they were out of sight. Sam laughing softly all along. Dean was surprised they didn't call the police on him, or at the very least go looking for the rent a cop inside the library.

"Losing your touch?" Sam taunted.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean demanded, refocusing on his brother. "Who said anything about fucking?"

Sam's face darkened, all traces of humor gone. "You didn't even kiss me," he accused. "If I was what you were after, then you should have known better than to try and jack me off in a library."

He hadn't kissed him? That was Sam's complaint, his whole reasoning behind his freak out? It wasn't like Dean had fucked him and turned away every chance to kiss Sam. He just hadn't gotten to it yet, Sam hadn't given him the chance. Not that any of that really mattered. He had Jess, or was Dean the only one that remembered that?

"Why, Sam?" Dean snorted and shook his head. "We aren't anything anymore, remember? _You're _the one that decided that!"

Sam gave a half shrug, mouth twisting in anger. "So you just decided you'd do your best to fuck things up for me and Jess? Make me as miserable as you possibly can before you drop me back at Stanford?"

Fuck things up for him and Jess? Dean hadn't made Sam do a damn thing. He was a big boy, old enough to know when he was making a mistake, and he'd never had a hard time turning Dean away before, or he wouldn't have a new girl in the first place. Not to mention the fact that Dean wasn't the one with intentions of returning to Stanford.

"Again," Dean laughed bitterly, his temper flaring. "_Your _decision, Sammy boy. You're the one that wants to go back to Stanford; I never said a damn thing about giving you up."

Dean had never wanted to give him up.

"Maybe not," Sam agreed. "But it was easy enough last time, wasn't it?"

Easy? Jesus. Dean was tiring of this whole conversation quickly, his body growing tired with every new jab from Sam. And now he brought up last time? Last time was anything but easy-it was necessary. What else was Dean supposed to do? Hold Sam there against his will and pray that one day he'd be enough? That Sam would get over the fact that Dean had ruined his chance at a new-no, _better-_life? Not a chance.

"That's what I thought," he said, brushing past Dean as his arms went slack. "Easy."

"What was easy about it?" Dean snapped, whirling around to face Sam. "Listening to you and Dad tear each other apart, each one of you wanting a little more of me? Or taking you to the bus station, only to have you ignore me the whole way and then not bother to even say goodbye? What the fuck was _that_, Sam?"

After all they'd been through, all the things they'd said in hushed tones as Dad slept in the next bed, neither caring much if they were caught. All Dean's gentle kisses and Sam's patience with Dean's hesitance, and the best goodbye Sam could give him was a cold shoulder and a grunt at Dean's admission of love.

Sam shook his head, regret at his earlier words making his eyes go soft. "Dean…"

"Not even one last fuck," Dean smirked, before Sam had a chance to pull the puppy dog act. His brother's apologetic voice already tugging at his heart. Things were too keyed up and the only one hurting was Dean. There was just something not right about that when Dean had been the one to risk everything.

Sam's eyes widened, a smirk of his own slowly settling in place of his surprise. A trick Dean was sure Sam had picked up from him somewhere along the way. "That all you want, Dean?" he asked, backing Dean against the wall and boxing him in with long arms, strong arms that Dean hadn't once forgot about. Sam's grin widened as he lowered his mouth to Dean's jaw, voice dropping. "A good fuck, baby?"

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and tried to pull back as best he could, pinned between the brick wall of the library and Sam's solid chest. His fingers itched to reach up and drag his brother closer, tangle his hand in too long hair and take what Sam was offering. What _used _to be his.

Dean brought his gaze up to Sam's, wondering what all this was about. His Sammy would have been hurt by that comment, would have shook his head and told him to fuck off, before leaving. He wouldn't offer a quick fuck and actually seem okay with it.

Sam's eyes were hard, a flicker of something desperate in them that Dean had never thought he'd see in anyone else but himself when he stumbled to the bathroom in the morning. Half hard and swearing he could still feel Sam.

He felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and gave his heart a squeeze, refusing to let up. His throat tightened and tears stung the back of his eyes. He was ruining this, making things worse between him and Sam instead of just owning up to his feelings and admitting that what he'd wanted was a sappy goodbye like only Sam could give. Dean opened his mouth to say it, to switch directions when the flicker of desperation in Sam's eyes disappeared-replaced by triumph.

"You know me, Sammy," he smirked instead, knowing Sam now hated Dean's pet name. "That's all I've ever wanted." Like all Sam had ever wanted was Dean. What a joke that was now.

Sam's face fell, disbelief clouding his features. He quickly ducked his head to hide it. "Okay," he agreed softly. "Anything you want, Dean."

The ride back to the motel was silent and anything but peaceful. Sam sat twisted in his seat to stare out the window, arms crossed over his broad chest, none too happy with the sudden turn of events. Dean wasn't too happy himself, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as he drove. He was starting to regret starting this in the first place, wondering if maybe suffering in silence might have been better for his sanity. It was too late now though, he'd set things in motion and there were only two ways to end it: admit his feelings to Sam or go through with it and pray things worked out in the end-or in other words, that they found Dad sooner than later, leaving Sam back at the doorstep of his perfect life and far, far from Dean.

Dean parked and got out of the Impala; half hoping his brother wouldn't follow. Sam's words ringing heavy in his ears _-'Okay, anything you want, Dean.' _The other half of himself hoping for a follow through, a chance to change Sam's mind about going back to Jess.

It was stupid- to think that all it would take was the right touch or the right kiss, to bring Sam back to him when he was in love with someone else. But it was all Dean had to cling to and until Sam left, for good this time and he wasn't giving up.

They were barely through the door before Sam was crowding him up against the wall, his hands everywhere at once. Mouthing hot and wet at Dean's throat as he tried his best to remember that this wasn't how he wanted things to go down.

"This what you wanted?" Sam bit sharply at his neck, leading Dean back towards the bed. "Good fuck and we're done?"

Dean's hands curled around Sam's hips possessively. _'Good fuck and we're done_', like they didn't have any attachments, like that's all anything had ever been about. His younger brother's words made his stomach knot and his throat constrict with all the things he wanted to say.

Nothing about this was right, not Sam, not the way they were kissing or touching. Not a damn thing except for Sam and Dean and the way things were going; it'd be like they'd never existed. Never mattered to one another.

"I didn't mean it, Sammy. It's never been about that. Never been about anything other than you."

The back of Dean's knees had barely touched the bed when the confession bubbled up in his throat and spilled out of his mouth, against Sam's shoulder with enough shock value to send him tumbling back onto the bed.

Sam stood there, frozen and staring wide eyed at Dean, looking vaguely like a deer caught in the headlights. He shook his head slightly, opened his mouth then let it snap shut as he dropped his chin to his chest and took a step back.

"Sammy," he asked hesitantly, afraid that his confession would have the opposite effect and send Sam running for the door, without so much as a grunt this time.

"That day," Sam started softly. "At the bus station…"

Dean sat up, "It's fine, Sam. It was a long time ago." He'd had four years to put it behind him and the fact that Sam actually gave a damn that it had hurt, was better than any apology

Dean could come up with. Except for maybe Sam on his knees, doing what he did best-making Dean into a babbling idiot.

"No," he disagreed sharply. "Just let me say this."

"Yeah, okay," Dean nodded. Whatever Sam wanted if it kept him here with Dean.

Sam took a deep breath and went on. "I didn't say goodbye because I didn't want that to be what it was. I didn't want it to be a goodbye for us, but when you didn't call, didn't come to see me, I thought that's what you wanted."

What he wanted? Dean hadn't filled out the Stanford application for Sam and he certainly hadn't put the thought in his brother's head that leaving was a good idea, even if it really was. He'd defended Sam, done his best to get Dad to understand that this was the one thing they could give Sam: support for a better future, when Sam had so obviously hated his past and his present. But never once had Dean turned and said, 'It's about time' or anything else that would put such an idea in Sam's head.

"I told you I loved you," Dean cried. "If I wanted a goodbye, do you really think I'd say something like that?" He'd never once thought of lying to Sam to keep him there. He'd said it because it was true, and because he wanted that to be the last thing Sam remembered between them. Not the cold silence that had hung heavy between them and the only thing Dean had been left with in the end.

Sam shrugged, his eyes downcast. "Maybe."

"Maybe, Sam? Jesus, why would I-"

"Because you were always doing things like that," he interrupted. "To make me happy, you'd say anything."

"Not like that," Dean shook his head furiously. "Nothing like that, Sammy." When he told Sam he loved him, he meant it. There was nothing false about his love for Sam, or in any words he'd ever said to Sam.

"So, what," Sam laughed, shrugging helplessly. "You saying you love me?"

What else _was_ there to say? That Sam had hurt him, that there'd never be anyone else? It wouldn't do him any good when Sam had Jess back at home, his precious interview on Monday and years of pent up anger and resentment not in Dean's favor.

"Yeah, Sam," Dean nodded. "I do. I always have."

Sam's brows drew up in confusion as he dropped down on the bed next to Dean. "You love me," he repeated to himself. He shook his head, running a hand through shaggy hair. "Then why'd you let me go?"

Dean reached up impulsively and smoothed Sam's hair back down, his hand falling to Sam's neck. "What else could I do, Sam? It's what you wanted, and making you happy is all I wanted," he added before his brother could start in on what Dean wanted and for once going after it. It was all Dean had ever wanted- besides Sam.

"You could have told me," Sam said, covering Dean's hand.

"I did," he laughed. "You grunted, remember?" Looking back on it now, it was funny to think of his articulate and too damn smart for his own good younger brother grunting in response to anything. But back then, it'd hurt worse than Sam's leaving.

"God," Sam groaned, falling back onto the bed. "Don't remind me." He turned his head to the side, studying Dean curiously. "How can you even stand to be with me? After I left…" he trailed off. "I can't believe you're even talking to me."

Dean shrugged, running a hand across Sam's stomach absent mindedly. Now that they weren't playing games with each other, it felt like it used to; comfortable and right. Dean didn't want to blow that over something neither of them could change now. "You wanted Stanford, Sam, you needed something else, and I did what I could to let you have it.

"Believe me, I know." Sam watched Dean's hand move from his stomach to his chest and back again, bringing his own hand up to trail fingertips gently along the bend of Dean's arm. "You always gave me everything I wanted. You spoiled me," he said smiling sadly up at Dean.

"I wanted you to have everything you wanted," Dean reminded him. It was his job as a big brother and even if it wasn't, it was something so deeply rooted in Dean he couldn't have had it any other way. Except for one thing. "I really did, Sam. But did you have to have her too?" Dean had had his fair share of one night stands, would understand if Sam had a few of his own, no matter how much it would hurt him to know that, but Dean had never once thought about truly _being _with someone. Not since Sam.

Sam let his hand drop away. "I thought it's what you wanted. I thought you didn't want me anymore, Dean."

He blinked slowly. Feeling as if his brain was on a major delay, because there sure as hell wasn't anything about this conversation making sense. Every one of Dean's insecurities was pouring out of Sam's mouth, every fear and every doubt. Every God damn thing that didn't belong in Sam's head.

"That I didn't want you anymore?" he repeated slowly, as he waited for his anger to catch up with him. "I fucking love you, Sam. I did _everything _for you. How could you ever think that?" he demanded. It was bad enough Jess was more than a friend with benefits or a one night stand. She meant something to Sam, she was a _part _of him. How could Sam replace him so easily, no matter what he thought about Dean?

"I don't know, I just…I wanted you to leave with me," Sam admitted quietly. "I thought when I told you about Stanford, you'd change your mind about another life. About leaving. I thought I was enough."

Enough? God, Sam was more than enough. Sam was more than he _deserved._ Dean had never meant for him to think he wouldn't change his life for Sam. He'd stayed _because _of Sam. How could he even think of leaving for college when he had Sammy to take care of? To protect and serve as a buffer between him and Dad?

"That's pretty hard to believe, Sam, when you spend almost every waking moment with the girl," Dean pointed out instead, the depth of his feelings for Sam making him a little uncomfortable.

"I wasn't with her every waking second," he argued.

Dean cocked a brow. "You live with her, you never leave the house without her. When are you ever apart?" What better way to spend every waking moment with someone then to live with them? It was pretty damn hard to ignore them when you shared a home. A bed.

"Yeah, but…wait, "Sam shook his head. "Wait, are you saying that you were checking up on me?" A grin spread across his face. "That's so sweet," he teased. Their previous conversation gone with the realization that Dean had been to Stanford more than once.

Dean scowled. He hadn't meant for Sam to know that, even if it was true. "It fucking killed me to see you with her." His visits were anything but sweet. They were pathetic and hurt worse every time, the closer Sam and Jess got. Dean had even once walked in on them in bed. _That_ had been the end of any visits he may have ever thought about in the future.

"I didn't mean for," Sam broke off, his voice choked and eyes filled with tears. Dean almost wanted to take back what he'd said, let Sam taunt him instead, but that thought disappeared as Sam pushed him back on the bed and covered Dean's body with his. He lowered his mouth to Dean's, licking hungrily at his lips. And suddenly it was like before, with hands everywhere and eager to please kisses. _'Anything you want, Dean.'_

"Sam," Dean warned, pushing at Sam's chest. Kisses and puppy dog eyes weren't going to fix things for once.

"I want this," Sam insisted, refusing to let Dean distance them. "I never wanted anything else." His hand trailed down Dean's side, fingers toying with the edge of his shirt.

"And Jess?" Dean asked, jerking away at the feel of fingers against heated skin. "What about Stanford?"

"Does it really matter?" Sam mouthed at his jaw.

"Yeah, it does matter," Dean snapped. "That's the problem, Sam." He sighed and shook his head. Obviously Sam didn't get it. Dean was in love with him and his heart couldn't take another goodbye. Not knowing there was someone waiting for Sam back at Stanford, someone more deserving of his brother.

"Why?" he asked, sitting up a little to look at Dean. "Why does any of it have to matter now? I'm here with you now, and I'm not going anywhere. Isn't that enough?" Sam stared pleadingly down at him, his eyes filling with unshed tears again.

"What?" Dean blinked. For good? Sam was back for good? When the hell had that happened? "Sam…"

"You're my home, Dean. You always have been." Sam slipped his arm around Dean's waist, drawing him closer. "I was just too stupid to realize it before."

He nodded dumbly and let Sam kiss his way down Dean's neck. His mind was whirling and the affect Sam was having on his body wasn't helping him much either as he tried to piece things together. They'd been apart for so long he could hardly believe this was his Sammy, kissing and touching with the same passion as when they'd started. Not put off in the least at Dean's shocked stupid behavior.

"So," he cleared his throat, finally beginning to see he wasn't dreaming as Sam palmed his dick. "What'd you miss more, Sammy? Me or the fucking?"

Sam snorted loudly, burying his face in Dean's neck. "I'm not sure," he murmured thoughtfully. "I haven't been fucked in so long, I've kind forgotten what it's like." His voice was laced with humor and something darker, challenging as he bit sharply at Dean's neck.

Dean growled low in his throat. "Then I'll just have to remind you."


End file.
